


The Great Ethereal/Occult Bake-Off

by ThetaSigma



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - The Great British Bake Off Fusion, At least I wouldn't think so, Established Relationship, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), M/M, Not RPF
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-28
Updated: 2020-06-28
Packaged: 2021-03-04 02:29:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,020
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24962311
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThetaSigma/pseuds/ThetaSigma
Summary: It is lost to the mists of time* just why Aziraphale or Crowley had ever thought they should apply to be on the Great British Bake-Off. No one but Aziraphale and Crowley recall what happened after they made that decision.*This is a lie. It’s lost to the mists of excessive alcohol consumption.Having made their decision to become contestants on the Great British Bake-Off, Aziraphale and Crowley did absolute zero research into how one applies for said show, and simply imagined that very good amateur bakers are approached to compete.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 42





	The Great Ethereal/Occult Bake-Off

**Author's Note:**

> So I really don't think this counts as any kind of RPF as the very real people on Bake-Off only ever appear as they would on the show and absolutely zero speculation is done about them. Fair warning, though, Mary, Paul, Mel, and Sue are in this fic.
> 
> With thanks to my sister for taking a look and deleting sixty percent of my commas. Also for her frequent comments going "this sentence makes no sense". This fic would be incoherent without that, I promise. She also recommended some funny scenes which I added because her ideas were brilliant.

It is lost to the mists of time* just why Aziraphale _or_ Crowley had ever thought they should apply to be on the _Great British Bake-Off_ . No one but Aziraphale and Crowley recall what happened _after_ they made that decision.

* _This is a lie. It’s lost to the mists of excessive alcohol consumption._

Having made their decision to become contestants on the Great British Bake-Off, Aziraphale and Crowley did absolute zero research into _how_ one applies for said show, and simply imagined that very good amateur bakers are approached to compete.

The process was _nothing_ like that, but Aziraphale’s imagination, always robust, had been enriched by millennia of reading human works. Crowley’s imagination was second to none -- if he could keep the Bentley from falling apart during hellfire, imagining that Paul Hollywood had heard of him and wanted him to compete on the show was mere child’s play*.

_*Crowley has never understood this expression. He has seen millennia of children playing, and most of the games seem designed to make an older person weep with frustration (or pain, if it requires any flexibility). But the expression would suggest it is particularly_ easy _to do. Regardless of whether child’s play is easy or difficult, imagining that he was going to be on the Great British Bake-Off was as easy as pie, for a more apt turn of phrase._

A very baffled producer personally delivered their invitation to join in the competition. As separate contestants, although most shows wouldn’t allow married couples to compete. This had not occurred to either Aziraphale or Crowley, so naturally they didn’t imagine it any differently. 

Before their first day in the tent, they spent many hours practicing the showstoppers and signature bakes. If they allowed the use of miracles, they were all perfection. If they _didn’t_ , they were as likely to be inedible as not*. 

* _Crowley’s tended to be excellent even without the use of major miracles, although neither were sure where to put simple_ belief _it would turn out excellently. However, Crowley had been baking and cooking for close to two millennia, ever since the oysters in Rome. After all, if his angel liked food, Crowley would learn to be a master._

They solemnly agreed with each other, however, that the only _fair_ way to do this would be to agree not to use miracles*. They then assiduously practiced baking without miracles.

_*This did, however, spark rather a long argument about the use of miracles in baking. In short, Aziraphale contended that as St Honore, the patron saint of baking**, miracles in baking were very much within his purview. “After all,” he argued, as much with himself as with Crowley, “If a baker prays to St Honore and their bake is miraculously enhanced, how is that any different from me miraculously enhancing my own bake?”_

_Crowley snorted at that. “Come off it, angel, you won’t be miracling their bakes too. If you weren’t competing, if any of them prayed to you, you would answer or not as you usually do, not ignore it because you’re in the competition.”_

_“Oh, my dear, but so few know to pray to St Honore these days anyway.”_

_Crowley just_ looked _at him and Aziraphale subsided. “Very well, my dear. No miracles. I suppose the past millennia have taught me_ something _of cooking mechanisms.”_

_**To no one’s surprise -- although in a bit of a muddled way. Aziraphale was not actually Honoratus of Amiens; that was a bit of a mix-up following Aziraphale’s blessing of said man. However, Aziraphale was responsible for that particular baking miracle and many of the ones that came about thanks to prayers to Saint Honore._

There were only two kitchen fires, and they were minor.

*** 

The following are scenes from what _would_ have been Aziraphale and Crowley’s first weekend on the show. It never aired (as will become clear later), but Crowley and Aziraphale have a video copy. It was made and delivered by some _very_ baffled BBC producers who later would not recall any of it. It also doesn’t focus on the other contestants, as they aren’t important here.

Mel and Sue walk in front of the lined up contestants, cracking jokes about the new season and introducing new viewers to the concept. Various contestants’ reactions are added in, one saying, “Oh, I’m terrified of Mary. Paul, too, but definitely Mary.”

Immediately after, the camera cuts to Crowley, who shrugs and says, “Nah, neither of ‘em got a patch on the last folks to judge my work. I’ve come out of Hell unscathed.” The grin he gives leaves anyone watching a bit unsure of whether he’s joking or not. The fact that he’s wearing sunglasses doesn’t make that any easier. He’s dressed more practically than usual: a loose t-shirt, nothing hanging around his neck, and his pants are _slightly_ less tight than he usually favours these days. 

*

The bakers stand at their assigned benches, looking ready and eager for their first baking challenge. Mel, Sue, Paul, and Mary stand at the front as Mel and Sue deliver their very first signature bake challenge. They’re to make pound cakes, flavoured any way they like, with any additions, but it must be a recognisable pound cake and must be completed within two and a half hours. There is a great flurry of movement after that except from Aziraphale.

Aziraphale, incidentally, had attracted quite a few odd looks, as he’d chosen not to alter his usual wardrobe at all for this competition. He’s still dressed as he always is, complete with tartan bowtie.

*

Aziraphale -- known as Zira to fellow contestants and the judges, for him to be able to have a full name (specifically, A. Zira Fell) -- is approached within a minute of the ‘bake’ instruction. He is the only baker not yet actively weighing ingredients or mixing things -- he has some orange peel set up around an egg and is muttering quietly. As he sees the camera, he finishes quickly and says, “I was just saying the traditional prayer to St Honore to bless my bake,” he says with an amused and secretive smile. “I wouldn’t think of baking without praying to him first.”

_Note from BBC producers: We condensed the intro scenes that would normally have been spread out over multiple episodes. We’re not quite sure WHY any of this happened and who these people are, but since we’ve been asked to make this, we’re adding the entire intro for both men. Seriously why are we doing this? Who ARE these people? Was there a secret Bake-Off episode??_

**_Voice-over: Zira is the owner of AZ Fell & Co Books in Soho. He spends some of his days tending the shop._** A shot of Aziraphale sitting at his desk, smiling benevolently at customers (and the camera) while also making sure no one actually dares _buy a book._ “Oh, this bookstore has been in my family since 1800,” he says proudly. **_Locals in Soho say that AZ Fell & Co Books is a landmark. _**A shot of a Soho native, at least eighty, saying, “Oh, AZ Fell & Co’s been around my entire life. I don’t go in often -- not my line, antique books -- but there isn’t a person in Soho who doesn’t know Mr -- doesn’t know Zira and doesn’t know his shop. And who doesn’t know Crowley, by this point.”

A shot of Aziraphale entering the flat above the store. **_Zira lives above the store with his husband, fellow contestant Crowley._ ** “We’ve been very happy here,” Aziraphale says with a beaming smile. “Although I do wish we had a bigger kitchen.”

He leads the camera to the kitchen. “Bit tight in here with both of us, sometimes, trying to bake, but we make do. I sleep far less than Crowley does, so I usually practice my bakes while he’s sleeping.” **_Zira credits his start in baking to his husband._ ** “Well, I mean, Crowley learned how to make so many of the things I love -- he’s, quite literally, a demon in the kitchen -- and I realised, I could do this too. I always thought that somehow I’d mess it up or that I should leave it to the professionals. Or even, that it wasn’t good enough if a professional didn’t make it. Crowley taught me otherwise, and so I figured I’d try it too.”

A shot of Aziraphale and Crowley moving around the kitchen together, seamlessly getting out of the other’s way when necessary. Crowley feeds Aziraphale one of the strawberry quarters he’s just cut. Aziraphale has Crowley try some of his chocolate sauce.

*

Crowley is expertly beating eggs and explains as he does: “It’s ten eggs, beaten lightly, and a pound of flour. The recipe I first used came from 1851 and added lemons or oranges.” 

Sue asks, “So you’re using lemons? Oranges? Both? Some kind of citrus orgy?”

“Chili peppers,” Crowley answers drily. His sunglasses are still on, making it hard to read his facial expression with any accuracy. “I’m adding a bit of chili pepper to give it a last bit of surprise heat on the palate. It’s a chocolate pound cake otherwise, with ginger for more heat. I’m calling it ‘Cerberus’ Offering.’”

**_Voice-over, with illustration in the Great British Bake-Off Cookbook: Crowley’s pound cake, which he’s calling ‘Cerberus’ Offering’, is going to be chocolate with fresh ginger pieces, ground chili peppers, and chocolate and orange icing._ **

Crowley continues to mix his batter, starting to add the flour in.

**_Voice-over: Crowley is a retired entrepreneur. He contributed to some major tech innovations, although specifically what, he would not tell us._** Crowley stands in front of the screen with a smartphone in his hand, clearly typing something quickly. “Ah, man, you don’t want to know, trust me,” he says, with a grin. “Not fair to make the viewers hate me before I’ve even baked a single thing.”

A shot of Crowley walking down a street in Soho and entering a building. **_These days, he spends most of his time at AZ Fell & Co Books with his husband. _ **

A shot of Crowley stirring batter in a bowl. **_Crowley credits his start in baking to his husband as well._ ** “Yeah, so, I will say, the quickest way to a man’s heart is not always through his stomach, but that adage was probably written about _my_ husband. Once I found out that Angel could be tempted by any well-made delicacy, I was determined to learn how to cook. And bake. Do reasonably well, I like to think. He certainly doesn’t complain.” Crowley grins at the camera.

**_When he’s not baking, Crowley likes to spend time with his husband -- fellow contestant Zira -- going on walks in St James’ Park and feeding the ducks. Zira says Crowley has a rather mischievous side to him at times._ ** Aziraphale is in front of the camera and gives a little wave. “Well, yes, I mean, the old snake does love his tricks. Harmless little jokes, really. He’s the type to think a bucket of water over a door is an _excellent_ defense system.” Off-camera, Crowley can be heard muttering, “Angel, it _worked_.” Aziraphale calls back, “Oh, hush, you!”

*

Aziraphale is in the tent, adding flour to a bowl on a scale. Mary, Paul, and Sue stop by. “Before I ask what you’re making,” Mary begins, “I have to ask. Does Crowley know what you’re going to make already?”

Aziraphale smiles. “Well of course he does. He tasted the various batches I made to tell me what he thinks. I did the same with his. I want to win, of course, but he’s my husband, and I’m not going to shut him out or sabotage him.” He fixed Mary with a steely look. Mary laughs in delight. 

“Well, that’s me put in my place,” she says cheerily. “What _are_ you making for this challenge?”

Aziraphale brightens immediately. “I’m making a honey poundcake. I’m using monofloral honeys from honeysuckle flowers and lavender flowers. It just gives it a lighter taste.”

Paul spots a plastic tub on the counter. “Are you using _sour cream?_ ” he asks disbelievingly.

Aziraphale nods enthusiastically. “It makes the cake moister and gives it a slight tangy flavour. I’ve made and eaten many pound cakes in my time, dear, and I do know the various recipes. I went with an old German one, _Eischwerteig mit Fett,_ for my base. Instead of using a pound of everything, it uses egg-weights. You weigh however many eggs you use, and base the weight of the rest of the ingredients off of that.”

**_Voice-over, with illustration in the Great British Bake-Off Cookbook: Zira’s cake, which he’s calling “Honey Magic”, will feature honeysuckle and lavender honey, sour cream to give it moistness -- an American addition to pound cake recipes -- and a honey, lavender, and lemon buttercream icing._ **

Before they leave, Sue asks, “I have to know -- aren’t you _stiflingly_ hot in that coat and bowtie?”

“Oh, no, my dear, it’s perfect for this. Why, these clothes are so comfortable.”

Sue shakes her head in bemusement and looks doubtful, but it does have to be said -- Aziraphale never had so much as a drop of sweat on him.

*

Crowley is bent down in front of his oven, hissing menacingly. “You are not going to over- or underbake. You are going to turn out _exactly perfect_ , or it’s curtains for you!” He glances up and seems to realise just then that a camera is trained on him. “I tell all my projects my expectations of them ahead of time. A… strange quirk of mine.”

*

Paul asks the same question of Crowley that Mary asked of Aziraphale. “My angel knows everything about me,” Crowley says simply. “From the trivial, like what my signature dish will be, to the major.” 

*

Paul stands off to the side in the tent with Mary. “You know,” he says to her, “I don’t rightly think we’ve ever had a married couple compete at the same time. I think we generally tried to avoid that. They must have really impressed the judges for the casting department. Can’t wait to see what they come up with.”

“It’s definitely a different dynamic,” Mary agrees. “I hope it doesn’t cause any strife, either in the tent or their home.”

*

The judges and Sue go to Crowley’s bench to taste his signature pound cake. Both Paul and Mary are stifling doubtful faces when he tells them there’s ginger and chili in it, but they gamely cut into it and taste.

There’s long silence. Most contestants would be fidgeting by now, or starting to look anxious, but Crowley is as laid-back as ever. A half-smile appears on his face. 

“That’s… _wow_ ,” Mary says. “I was worried with the chili, because that’s so hard to get the balance perfect, but it’s heat at the end but not overpowering.”

“Mate, I’d have another slice right now,” Paul says, eyeing the cake.

Crowley cocks an eyebrow. “Oh, go on,” he says with a light grin. 

Paul almost cuts himself another slice before stopping and shaking his head. “A little later,” he says, not quite as firmly as he would otherwise. “There are 11 other cakes still…” He looks at the cake again, then shakes his head.

Crowley shrugs. “Suit yourself,” he says.

*

Aziraphale is next to be judged. Paul looks vaguely horrified again at the addition of _sour cream,_ but Aziraphale just gives him a small smile. 

Paul cuts into it, and both he and Mary take a cautious bite.

Paul makes a sour face, and Aziraphale _beams_ at him. He looks like he’s about to say something, but holds his tongue while he waits for the judges.

Everyone else looks puzzled by Aziraphale’s grin -- except Crowley. The camera cuts to him briefly, sprawled on his stool (however impossible that sounds), and he looks smug. No one seems to be quite sure why Crowley’s looking smug. 

His and Aziraphale’s eyes meet and it looks like they’re having an entire conversation through facial expressions only.

Paul finally speaks. “I am _so annoyed_ I like the sour cream in it. It _matches_ the honey.”

“Oh, and the lavender,” Mary says. “Too often, it’s so easy to use a bit too much and get a sort of soapy aftertaste, but this is balanced to _perfection.”_

Sue, meanwhile, is silently devouring her slice. “Mmph,” she says through a half-full mouth. “You know, this is perfect as a chaser to Crowley’s cake. They complement each other so well. Did you two plan it that way?”

Aziraphale glances at Crowley. “Funnily enough, we _didn’t.”_

Crowley gives a lazy grin. “Guess we’re just the yin to each other’s yang, angel.” The other bakers and the judges all go _‘awww’_ together.

*

**_Voice-over: Unlike the signature challenge, the bakers don’t know what’s coming for the technical challenge._ **

_The bakers file back into the tent. The camera lingers on Crowley for an extra moment, possibly as the cameraperson tries to work out how on Earth anyone can pull off that walk._

“As you know, bakers, this bit is judged blind, so Paul and Mary, tatty-byes,” Sue says, introducing the technical challenge.

Once they’ve left, Mel continues with, “Today, we’re tasking you with making a very _trifling_ dessert. You have to make _somloi galuska_ , or Somloi Dumplings, which despite being called dumplings is actually a cake. It’s a Hungarian dessert consisting of three sponges and filling, much like a trifle.”

The camera pans over the bakers’ faces when Mel says _somloi galuska_ , and there is a range of reactions. Aziraphale looks delighted. Most of the bakers look _incredibly_ puzzled. Crowley looks slightly pained*.

_*Mel’s pronunciation, while not atrocious, was not correct, and Crowley was the only one in the tent to recognize that. Both he and Aziraphale knew somloi galuska -- had had it several dozen times -- but Aziraphale was fairly terrible at learning to speak new languages and stuck with the_ lingua franca _as long as he possibly could. However, Aziraphale picked up new languages in written format extremely quickly. Crowley was exactly the opposite: learning to speak a new language was absurdly easy for him, and a damn good thing, too. He was a tempter --_ The _Temper, capital T, capital T -- and a tempter who cannot speak their target’s language is not much of one. However, for him, learning to read a new one took a while._

The bakers uncover their gingham covered stations and proceed to read the instructions.

“Make three sponges: one walnut, one cocoa, and one plain,” one of the other bakers reads. “Well, that’s helpful.”

Aziraphale barely glances at the recipe before starting to mix.

Crowley doesn’t even glance at it.

*

“Why’d you choose _somloi galuska*,_ Mary?” Paul asks in their side tent, uncovering the completed dessert.

  
_*It’s a really good thing Crowley isn’t around to hear him pronounce it. His pronunciation is far worse than Mel’s had been._

Mary gives a slightly evil smile. “Well, it really does test their sponge making skills. It’s three separate, slightly different sponges. And the cocoa one can give them a bit of trouble because with the colour, it’s so hard to tell if it’s done. And we’re having them make their own apricot preserves, just to test them further.”

They try some of the dessert. “Oh, that’s heavenly,” Paul says. “So, Mary, what can go wrong here?”

“Well, of course, the sponges can be either under- or over-baked, which will affect the taste. If the preserves are too runny, they’ll run right off the sponge and make a mess, but if they overthicken, it won’t spread. Then there’s the rum to consider -- too little, and you can’t taste it. Of course, I’m not sure you can have too _much,_ but it _could_ overpower the other flavours.”

“You can _definitely_ have too much rum,” Paul says. “Well, this should be interesting.”

*

**_Voice-over: Somloi galuska was invented in Budapest, Hungary, by the head-waiter of the Gundel Restaurant, Károly Gollerits, and made first by József Béla Szőcs for the Brussels World Fair of 1958, where it became an award-winner._ **

**_Galuska is the Hungarian word for dumplings, but this is more like a trifle. It is traditionally served by taking ice cream scoops out of the completed cake, hence the name._ **

Some reactions from the other bakers: “Somloi _what?”_ one of them says. “God, I’ve never even heard of this! I don’t even think I’m pronouncing this right!” (she wasn’t).

“Why can’t it ever be a bake we’ve actually heard of?” another moans.

“These instructions are vaguer than IKEA directions,” one laughs.

“I _think_ I’ve seen it once in a store, but who knows. It might have been trifle. Probably was trifle.”

“Oh, I’m really worried about the cocoa sponge. Hard to see when it’s done.”

*

Mel slips over to Crowley. “You aren’t even reading the recipe,” she says, playfully accusing.

“No need,” Crowley shrugs. “Excellent memory, and anyway, József Béla Szőcs himself showed me how to make this cake, and honestly, there should be some Tokaji on this bench. I spent a few months in Budapest around that time working at the Gundel. Long story, not particularly interesting.”

Mel’s eyes narrow. “You know, Sue and I do all the voice-over work for this show, too. Including the explanatory parts. Such as the technicals the judges come up with. Szőcs invented the cake in the 1950s.”

Crowley gives a mysterious half-smile that makes Mel think very strongly of the Mona Lisa*. “Now you’re just being nosey,” he teases.

_*Probably because Crowley had_ been _the inspiration for the Mona Lisa smile._

“I’m keeping my eyes on you, Crowley!”

“Oh, you’d hardly be the first.”

*

Sue, meanwhile, has tackled Aziraphale. “Gosh, you’re just skimming that recipe,” she says, glancing at it. “Although, possibly because they’ve really pared it down to bare-bones. Make three sponges.”

Aziraphale laughs. “I’m really just double-checking the order of the layers. You know, Crowley showed me how to make this cake not long ago, but I never could remember which order the layers go in. I rather assume that Paul and Mary will be picky about that kind of thing.”

Sue nods. “The horror of having the plain sponge on the bottom instead of the top may never be forgiven,” she says mock-seriously. “You’d be driven out of the tent with pitchforks.”

Aziraphale frowns slightly. “Well, wouldn’t be my first time facing down pitchforks,” and glances at Crowley. He shakes his head slightly. “Well, it was a _very_ different time. And a different set of circumstances. Honestly, the amount of trouble he can get in!”

Crowley overhears and shouts, “Oi! I was _not_ the one that decided to _pop over to France_ for some _crepes_ in the middle of the bloody _Revolution!”_

“Oh, but you couldn’t _get_ a decent crepe anywhere else!” Aziraphale protests, and the exchange has the feel of a well-worn, mostly friendly disagreement. “Anyway, it worked out so well. We _did_ have crepes!” Aziraphale laughs. “Your hair was _so stupid_ back then!”

“Well, at least I wasn’t wearing those frilly clothes! I had the _sans-culottes_ on, at least!”

Most of the bakers are ignoring them, focussing completely on finishing this technical they’ve never heard of. Mel and Sue look _beyond_ puzzled. 

“Look, you know how I feel about changing my clothes!” Aziraphale calls.

“Well, it wasn’t the clothes that got you in trouble during the Blitz! That was you blundering around,” Crowley answers. It sounds biting, but the tone he’s using is so overwhelmingly _fond_ that it can’t be taken as anything but good-natured ribbing.

“I was trying to do my part for the war effort!” Aziraphale says with a pout. “How was I supposed to know she was a double-agent?”

Crowley laughs. “It was good I was in the area that night, wasn’t it?”

“Oh, the way you hopped into that church… I’ll never forget it, love.”

“Satan, that hurt. My feet were blistered for _weeks,_ angel.”

“Oh, oh, do you remember the look on those Nazis’ faces when they heard the whistling of that bomb, though?”

Crowley mimics it perfectly: dumbfounded shock and disbelief. Aziraphale howls with laughter. 

“The French Revolution?” Mel asks finally.

_“Nazis?”_ Sue echoes weakly.

“Ah,” Aziraphale starts, then subsides.

Crowley just gives his mysterious half-smile again. 

*

The blind judging begins with roughly half the entries being shunted towards the bottom for under- or over-baked sponges. 

The entries that eventually end up being numbers 4 and 5 in the rankings have issues with their apricot preserves -- one runny, one too thick. 

Number 3 is a baker who had hit all the marks except for failing to strain out the lemon and orange zest in the Rum syrup.

“Number 2 is… okay, this was _hard,”_ Paul says. “There was _barely any_ difference between this one and number 1.” He indicates Aziraphale’s dessert, and Aziraphale raises his hand. “Zira, the sponges were perfect, the pastry cream was amazing, the preserves were just the right consistency, there was just a _hint_ too many raisins.”

Aziraphale shrugs. “Can’t argue with that.”

“And so of course, number 1 is Crowley,” Mary finishes. “Well done! I don’t think I’ve ever eaten such a good _somloi galuska_ outside of Budapest.”

Crowley laughs slightly. “I learned _how_ to make it in Budapest.”

“Cheating!” Sue declares. “I call cheating!”

*

Mel, Sue, Paul, and Mary sit in the tent discussing the various bakers. They discuss some of the failures of the weekend -- which, as mentioned before, end up being unimportant here anyway.

“Moving on, let’s discuss who’s in line for Star Baker,” Sue says, once they’ve commiserated over some of the mistakes and missteps.

“Zira is definitely there,” Mary says. “I know Paul still isn’t sold on sour cream in pound cake, but that pound cake was inspired. And he did very well in the technical. Second in technical is _very_ good. I’d say he’s someone to watch.”

“Crowley’s up there, too,” Paul adds. “First in technical, especially the _first_ technical, that’s someone to contend with.”

“Of course, he had a bit of an inside line on that one,” Mel says. “He learned that dessert from Szőcs himself.”

Paul and Mary give her an odd look. “How?” Paul asks. “I wouldn’t think the ages lined up!”

Mel shrugs. “He just smiled when I asked that question. What about his signature? I knew you liked that one.”

“That pound cake,” Paul gushes. “I have tasted some amazing bakes on this show, but mate, I’d have had a second slice right there and then.”

“I thought you were gonna cut yourself one,” Sue said. “I was watching and thinking ‘is he actually going to? Is he gonna take a second slice during judging?’”

Paul laughs. “That cake was… whoo. I want the recipe, I’m not joking.”

“So it all comes down to the showstopper challenge,” Mel says, imbuing it with drama even though _all_ of the judgings always come down to the showstopper challenge.

*

The bakers assemble for the showstopper challenge. “For your showstopper challenge, bakers,” Mel says, “you have to make a wedding cake. You can make it one that you would want to have at your own wedding -- or would have wanted to have -- or you can make one that you would use at someone else’s wedding, but this cake should tell a story about you in some way. And it should be a wedding cake, so no fewer than three tiers.”

“And this is the showstopper,” Sue adds, “So we want to see decorations galore, impressive baking skills, something that’s a bit over the top.”

“You have three and a half hours. Ready… set… _bake.”_

*

Mel wanders over to Aziraphale. “That is a _lot_ of apples,” she says. 

“Of course. It’s an apple cake, dear. Apples have quite a lot of significance for me and Crowley. Here, would you like to taste the batter?”

Mel gives him a mock-doubtful look. “Oooh, you’re tempting me here, aren’t you? With _apples,_ no less.”

Aziraphale looks horrified. “No, no! Heavens, no! No, tempting people with apples is really Crowley’s area, I just need someone to tell me if this batter is sweet enough.”

Mel looks puzzled. “Sorry, Zira, just lightly teasing. I’d love to taste it.” 

Aziraphale gives her a sheepish smile. “Oh, I’m sorry, dear. Like I said, a bit of significance for us.”

“He tempts people with _apples?”_ she asks. “What, are they poisoned or something? Like the wicked queen in Snow White?”

“Nah, nowadays they’re perfectly ordinary apples. Usually very good ones. He’s a master gardener, my Crowley is.”

Mel does not look less puzzled. 

*

Sue, meanwhile, is eyeing one of the bowls on Crowley’s bench. It’s got a good seven or eight spoonfuls of icing in it and the citrus aroma surrounding the bench is intoxicating. She keeps glancing to see if Crowley is looking.

When it appears that he isn’t, she tries to swipe the bowl.

Crowley somehow notices anyway. “I’m done with the icing,” he says off-handedly. “You can eat it, if you want.”

“Oh, you’re an _angel,”_ Sue says delightedly, snatching the bowl. She tastes it. “Oh, that’s _heavenly.”_

Crowley’s lips twitch. “Angels and heavenly, not really my purview.” He laughs. “Should have thought of that as a temptation angle before I went freelance.”

*

Aziraphale brings his completed cake to the judging table. “Tell us about your cake, Zira,” Mary says.

“Well, dear, this is the wedding cake I wish I could have baked for our wedding. Although the cake we had was lovely, of course. It’s apple, cinnamon, and vanilla. Apples are… a bit of a theme for us, you could say.” He gives a small smile at that.

“The detail is exquisite,” Paul says, admiring the cake. A large white wing curves up one side, a large black on the other. They curve over the top of the cake to meet at the center, about an inch above the actual cake. At the base of the cake are piles of fondant books with fondant potted plants on some of those piles. “I mean, you created actual individual feathers out of chocolate. Why wings?” 

“They represent Crowley and me. His is the black one, mine is the white one.”

“Ask a stupid question,” Paul says with a rueful laugh. The camera cuts to Crowley, who is somehow sprawled on a stool, dressed in all black.

“And the books and plants?”

“Crowley and me again. I sell books -- they’re my passion -- and Crowley is a master gardener.”

“And it tastes delicious. It tastes like what I imagine that perfect apple to taste like,” Mary adds as she finishes her bite.

“Like the one Eve got tempted by,” Sue adds cheekily.

*

Crowley brings his completed reconceptualised wedding cake to the judging table. “That is _exquisite_. And I see you kept with the apple theme,” Paul remarks. 

Crowley’s cake is a garden, each tier holding a different variety of plant decorations. Fondant roses are on the lowest tier, hanging plants dangle down from the second tier, and an apple tree is the cake topper. “Well, yes, Angel got to do the cake apple flavored so I got to decorate mine with apples,” Crowley says with a grin. “Could say I lost the coin toss, but it wasn’t a coin we tossed and I’m not sure there were any losers that night.”

“Oi, careful!” Mel scolds. “We’ll have to edit that out if you keep on like this.”

“So what flavour _is_ the cake?” Mary asks.

“Citrus. The bottom layer is orange, the middle lemon, and the top layer is lime. Zira and I spent quite a bit of time in Italy, and he loved the oranges there. It also goes well with a sparkling white wine, which is always important.” Crowley laughs and adds, “He also fell in love with oysters there, but I couldn’t quite figure out how to incorporate that flavour into a wedding cake.”

Mary and Paul shudder. “No, the citrus trio was an excellent choice,” Paul says.

*

Mary, Paul, Sue, and Mel are back in the judging tent, with tiny slices of wedding cake covering the table.

“Let’s talk about Star Baker,” Mel says. “Going in, Crowley and Zira were looking strong, do you think they still are?”

“Absolutely,” Mary says. She indicates Zira’s wedding cake. “If you’d asked me before eating this if I thought apple was a good flavour for a wedding cake, I would have told you probably not. But this… it was somehow the absolute _perfect_ apple. It was so well balanced, well flavoured, well executed…. This is a cake he should be very proud of.”

“And Crowley’s citrus trio was astounding. Each one was full of bold flavour and still light as air,” Paul says. “Moist, good crumb structure, the icing was absolutely perfect…”

“And they both _look_ good. They were both cakes that could sit centerstage at a wedding reception for hours. The decorations on both were absolutely exquisite.”

“Those wings on Zira’s were so beautiful, and the garden on Crowley’s was so varied and well executed.”

“It’s going to be hard to decide between them.”

“You know, it’s absolutely in the back of my mind as we’re considering this that they are married to each other.”

“Potential source of marital strife?” Sue asks.

“Gosh, I really do hope not,” Mary says*.

_*In the end, Crowley would have won Star Baker but it was very, very close. However, they never got as far as the reward scene._

***

However, what the cameras would not have been able to pick up, or make sense of, was all the things in _between_ . Because, well, yes, they went in with the attitude that they were going to use _no miracles_ , but really, Aziraphale couldn’t help himself from sort of _adjusting_ the doneness of his cake, and Crowley had threatened every kitchen equipment to ensure compliance, and it was a very slippery slope. Next, they’d just subtly _adjusted_ the temperature in the tent from “too hot to work with half our ingredients” to “perfect spring day”.

Soon, Aziraphale was simply _creating_ ingredients out of thin air, or improving the quality of something. Crowley had ensured his cake would not collapse suddenly with a subtle snap of his fingers.

This may _still_ not have been enough for them to decide that perhaps a cooking competition was not for them, until Mel called “Bakers, you have ten minutes remaining.”

And Crowley was about forty-five minutes behind, and Aziraphale in no better shape, and well… 

Crowley snapped his fingers, and time stopped around them.

When time started again, their bakes were completed to perfection, and they were enjoying a cup of tea. The other contestants were absolutely befuddled, but seemed to generally think that Aziraphale and Crowley _had_ simply finished very early, and anything in their memory that reminded them that Aziraphale’s cake had still been in the oven when Mel called out the time or that Crowley hadn’t even _made_ any of the fondant roses simply slipped away.

After the bake had ended, and they had left the tent (ideally to return in a little bit for the final results), both Aziraphale and Crowley said at the same time, “This was a bad idea.”

“That much miracle activity is bound to be noticed, even if we’re free agents now,” Aziraphale said.  
  


Crowley didn’t disagree. He didn’t add some of the things he could have*, like ‘they’re good people and don’t deserve to compete against two immortals who can affect reality’ or ‘we’re blatantly cheating at this point.’

_*And would have in another few centuries, once he more fully embraced his good side_

They considered quietly withdrawing with some pablum about realising they could not compete against each other and keep their marriage healthy, but eventually, Crowley said, “Nah, best thing to do would be to wipe this weekend from their mind completely and have them start fresh next week like nothing happened.”

The only hint that this _might_ have been their season was in the background shots: instead of a fluffy duckling or a lamb, there was only ever one long, black snake slithering around in the grass, and instead of their usual shots of wildflowers or tulips, there was only an apple tree.

**Author's Note:**

> This fic came about because I was watching Bake-Off and they called out 'five minutes remaining!' and several contestants had 'OH FUCK' faces on. And I went "oh man it would be really funny if Crowley was on and just stopped time so he could finish his bake" and that was supposed to be a like 500 word fic about Crowley giving himself an edge and turned into 6k on how their first weekend on Bake-Off would go. 
> 
> That was also like six months ago, but I've started going through my WIPs languishing on my Google Drive and trying to finish them.


End file.
